


Don't Talk Dirty To Me

by doilycoffin



Series: Witch Sam [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Roleplay, Dirty Talk, Fluff, M/M, Spanking, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doilycoffin/pseuds/doilycoffin
Summary: Sam decides to try and spice up their lives with a little bit of roleplaying. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite work out the way he initially plans





	Don't Talk Dirty To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the wincest writing challenge. This month's theme was spanking and dirty talk. 
> 
> Note: there is a bit of mild noncon roleplay in the beginning of the fic

Sam shifted on the bed anxiously, his shoulders beginning to ache slightly in protest from the way his wrists were bound to the headboard. Realistically, he hadn't been waiting long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes at most, but it felt like an eternity. He tugged at the restraints experimentally; they weren't wrapped around his wrists tightly enough to cut off circulation, but the expertly tied knots in the nylon rope spoke of someone who had more experience tying people up than the average person, although Sam supposed that "any experience at all" was probably more than the norm.

 

He was so busy pondering this idea that he nearly missed hearing the bedroom door creak open, the groaning of the hinges accompanied by the heavy sound of a man's boots against the hardwood floor and a low, impressed whistle. 

 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?," his captor crooned at him. "You know, I was worried that you might try to make a break for it while I was gone, but here you are, waiting for me all nice and patient. Who said that witches don't make good house guests?" 

 

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly give me much of a choice," Sam retorted. Lying belly down on the bed and being tied to the headboard didn't quite put him in the most intimidating position, but he craned his neck to look backwards at the man as best as he could, figuring that it was at least better than him glowering at the wall in front of him. "Kind of hard to do much of anything when a psychotic hunter ties you up and locks you in a room for no reason. Or is that just how you treat all of your 'guests'?" 

 

The man tsked at Sam as if he were a particularly ill-behaved child, and he felt the bed dip when the man sat on the edge of it, one of his fingers tracing Sam's bare ankle in a strangely intimate gesture. He attempted to kick his foot out in irritation but the only sign of acknowledgement towards Sam's half-assed show of resistance was  an almost bruising grip around his ankle. 

 

"No reason?" the man asked skeptically. "Some punk running around and flaunting his witchcraft sounds like a good enough reason to me. Keeping you off the streets is practically my civic duty." 

 

Sam snorted. "Yeah, off the streets and into your sheets. You're a real saint." 

 

"Better than a bullet between the eyes, ain't it?" 

 

Before Sam could formulate a clever reply to that, he was caught off guard as he felt the man's weight suddenly shift as he crawled further onto the bed until he was looming over Sam's prone body with one of his knees planted between Sam's thighs. 

 

"Get the hell off of me!" 

 

"Come on, don't get all coy on me now," the man said, cutting him off. His  fingers were threaded through the belt loops on Sam's pants, pulling at them teasingly but not actually trying to pull them down. Not yet. "You can't tell me that you aren't just a little bit eager to see what the big bad hunter has in store for you." 

 

In an effort to prove his words, he snaked a hand underneath Sam and cupped the front of his pants and was pleased by the fact that Sam was just as hard as he'd anticipated. 

 

Sam was able to maintain some of his dignity by barely resisting the urge to grind into the man's touch, but it was a nearer thing than he would have liked. He tried to buck the man off of him, but his position afforded him little leverage and despite the man's smaller size, he was a solid, unmovable force above him and clearly found Sam's struggling to be more amusing than anything. It didn't take long for him to finally give up and slump back against the bed once he realized how futile his efforts were. 

 

"What are you going to do to me?" Sam eventually asked, defeated. 

 

"Hmm...that kinda depends on you, doesn't it?" The man answered thoughtfully as he continued to casually grope his captive. "If you behave yourself, then I just might keep you around for a nice long while. You know, get real well-acquainted with each other and all that jazz. And if you  _don't_  behave yourself...well, you can probably fill in the blanks." 

 

Sam didn't reply to that, and the man seemed to accept his silence as acquiesce. 

 

"Excellent choice." 

 

Without preamble, both of his hands slid back to the waistband of Sam's pants and tugged them downwards until they were shoved just under his bare ass. 

 

"Going commando?" he asked, amused. "Not that I'm complaining, obviously. Just means there's one less thing standing in the way of me teaching my wicked witch a lesson." 

 

The last part was whispered sensually in his ear and Sam suddenly felt all the tension sucked out of the room as he bit his lip and failed to contain his laughter, much to the other man's annoyance. 

 

"Wha-...aw, Sammy, come on," Dean whined. "Why'd you go and ruin it like that?" 

 

Sam buried his face in the mattress to stifle his laughter while Dean flopped onto the other side of the bed, pouting. 

 

"You're the one who wanted to wanted to do this in the first place," he reminded, shooting daggers at the still-giddy Sam. "I was perfectly happy just railing you the same way I always do, but noooooo...you wanted to 'spice things up' with some roleplay." 

 

"It was great, Dean, really," Sam assured once he had somewhat collected himself, "it's just...you can't say the phrase 'wicked witch' in bed without making me think we're about to re-enact some kind of porno version of  _The Wizard of Oz_."

 

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed. "Like we could really  re-enact  _Swallow the Yellow Thick Load_. We'd need at least six more people, first of all." 

 

"...what?"

 

"And second of all, it's just plain rude to laugh at a guy when he's putting the moves on you." 

 

"In my defense, this was the first time that I've outright laughed at something you've said to me in bed." 

 

"But you've wanted to?!," Dean demanded, scandalized. 

 

"A couple of days ago, I told you that I couldn't fool around with you because I needed to brew a potion and you told me that you could give me your own magic potion...from your dick." 

 

"Technically, we weren't in bed for that one. I was just  _trying_  to get you in bed," Dean pointed out triumphantly. 

 

"And then later when we  _were_  having sex, you said you were going to fuck me so hard that I wouldn't remember how to cook breakfast," Sam continued. "I don't even know what that  _means_."

 

"...I'll give you that one." 

 

Dean looked so genuinely disappointed by this newfound revelation about his sexual prowess that Sam couldn't help but take pity on him. 

 

"Okay, so you're not the world's best dirty talker," Sam admitted, "but who cares? You're still pretty damn good at all of the other aspects of sex." 

 

Dean perked up at that, the mournful pout disappearing from his face. 

 

"That's true." 

 

"And I  _am_  still tied up if you still want to 'teach me a lesson...'" 

 

Dean paused for a moment in consideration, likely in an attempt to make it seem like he actually had to think the proposition over, but it was only a few seconds later that he was straddling Sam's thighs and reaching into the bedside drawer to get a bottle of lube handy. 

 

"I think a little bit of punishment can definitely be arranged," he said, grinning as he lightly smacked Sam's ass. 

 

Sam yelped at the suddenness of the light blow, but couldn't help but arch into it, silently encouraging Dean to strike him again. 

 

Dean took the hint and brought his palm back down against Sam's ass a bit harder this time, delighting in the strangled moan that it elicited. 

 

"Think you've learned your lesson yet?" He teased. 

 

"Probably," Sam said innocently, "but you may want to teach it to me again a few more times just to be really sure." 

 

It wasn't long until they had managed to find a rhythm, with Dean alternating between fingering him open and using just the right amount of force to strike him with. By the time that Dean had worked his way up to actually fucking him, Sam was already on the precipice of coming, and for some reason it was the realization that Dean hadn't even managed to get his jeans all the way off that sent Sam over the edge, the rough material scraping against the overly sensitive skin of his ass and providing just the right amount of painful pleasure. 

 

Aside from being vaguely aware of Dean coming inside of him at some point, Sam wasn't entirely cognizant of what happened in the minutes after he shuddered his way through his orgasm and the next thing he clearly remembered was Dean very carefully untying the knots around his wrists and checking for signs of damage. There wasn't any, but Sam almost certainly would have traded the ungodly stiffness in his arms from holding them in position for so long in exchange for a little bit of rope burn. 

 

"I think I might have overdone it a little," Dean admitted guiltily a few minutes later as he looked at the agitated, red marks that he left on Sam's ass, rubbing at the marks soothingly. 

 

"Don't worry about it," Sam grunted, half-asleep. After the adrenaline had worn off, he started to feel the dull ache that Dean's blows had left behind but it was more reassuring than anything. Well, it was now at least. He figured he might feel differently once he had to actually sit down again. 

 

Dean's concern didn't seem entirely abated, but he was soon distracted by something else. 

 

"Huh," he said, tracing a particular mark with his index finger, "I actually left a perfect hand print on one side of your ass. Kind of neat looking, actually. I feel like I need to preserve it somehow." 

 

"Dean," Sam said sweetly, "if you trace a hand-turkey on my ass while I'm sleeping, I will literally put a curse on you." 

 

"That's not what I was gonna do." 

 

"Yes it was."

 

"...shut up." 


End file.
